On the sound of a siren

Four months, twenty one days, if I may be correct for both our sakes, I saw a silhouette. I surmise art thou here now - 

You are here now.

A long time yet, not so for art minds tormented for days of a year, and 'tis surprise when does paradise not implode in me;

a long hour, a long-long hour, yet not so for hath I lost a thought one to a million times that remains a one pit from the stony paving of the lane I live in.

I am there. You can find me. May I say it en masse? May I dare? But you see, dare I will for dare I must. You will find me again someday.

So I say, "I am there, and you can find me.

So I say, "I still live in this house and so have you come back to offer company."

How did you know, oh my brethren hath I not had in what will I call an aeon?

'Tis name that makes so much sense at times.

On a red desk with red a coat of mine, four years old now -

On a red desk with brown hands lain upfront me eyne and touched they the cold, flat, and black face of something absolutely lifeless - Oh I repeat! -

On a red desk with mauve cum pink shirt on my bodice of what color I did not care to know, heard I your voice again.

Alas! Alas! Alas! is it a miracle or another terrible doom presaged for I heard thee call my name.

Alas! What must I give now!

On the concrete of both my folks, like on their affluence I tread now, wonder I what must I give now.

I think a little, and then for a little while with the same red garb swathing the skin of my arms so bare otherwise.

I cried last night, but again, did I?

This is still a dream - such a dream when no wonderland must it be. How come, then? 

I fancied our japes from the first trimester of the hours a decade back in time.

I conjectured if we merely chiseled with our mouths the clasp knives, swam just a little too far but enough just as well to break.

I laughed, after the cascade of tears inside my chest. Did I tell thee that?

If no, may I confide in thee now?

Such a fall they made and all out of me only in name.

Was the shower not heavy, but palpable for me to tell, "And there falls another drop then descends the next and then drip, drip, drip they leave my heart...and then drip, drip , drip, they abandon my eyes... and then drip, drip, drip... what else can I say? Help me out".

Threw out old boxes,

Regrets and photographs,

Empty pockets and lockets,

Tell me 'tis another hoax.

Juddered every jar thinking it my heart in a glass case,

ransacked the room with clothes and books strewn all in my bedroom floor, 

Tell me 'tis another hoax.

The neighborhood has been lighted up in no color but white a glaze. From all angles they shine; from the foliage of every tree and the drift of dry and dead leaves as well, they look through at me like stars from an evening sky which is yet to have them. Tell me 'tis another hoax. 

But walk this ground my feet quite normally now.

I am stable I figure.

Why! Won't you ask if found I what I wanted all this time -

wandering in the jungle of memories,

a dagger in my right and an axe does my left hand clasp,

what is it still in my mind? I am seeking to bury them alive.

Why! Am I lying? Do you catch a lie in what I tell you?

Am I not lying. 'Tis what I will tell thee. But again, am I not?

I cannot decide my dear dear brethren. You know, so long it seems to me too that hath I learned the chicanery of incurring my own doom.

Alack! This glamour of celebrities do I not lionize just as much as Roseline and Jinkins. What is this still in my mind? Damn it, what the heck!

You're a stranger, yet my brother.

Thou look different. Can I not find that mark of my ribbon on thy wrist -

I see, art thee so clean;

You're a visitor now. "Welcome to my home!", I say and greet.

Think I if may a bow invite you in sooner for you see, behold I thy bare feet on my mother's command that rings, "Welcome to your house!"

Art you my guest. I hurl the windows open;

Art thee my visitor. I put on the kettle and do your bed linen;

Art thee another. I heard the ligature of my knee crack on the stairs.

Shall I pray?